


trust me, trust me

by ssuppositiouss



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, M/M, Vampire Bill Cipher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:08:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27269968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssuppositiouss/pseuds/ssuppositiouss
Summary: Dipper enters the Fearamid to make a deal with the vampire leader Bill Cipher.Perhaps he is in over his head.
Relationships: Bill Cipher/Dipper Pines
Comments: 31
Kudos: 130





	trust me, trust me

**Author's Note:**

> I want to promise this is the last vampire fanfic I'll ever write. That would be a lie.

Dipper has heard the stories of people who sell their blood to Vampires, who go to Bloodhouses for the pleasure of Vampire venom. The venom is like a drug, one that brings the highest joy. It’s become so commonplace that Bloodhouses are in most major cities, with drugs on the black market a poor mimic meant to replicate the indulgent feeling accompanied by a Vampire bite.

He’s always been curious. Mabel tells him all the time that curiosity is going to be the death of him. Curiosity is what blinds him to his surroundings, leads him to bad decisions.

He has wanted to know the feeling of being bitten because no literature has described the sensation; he is not here for that, though.

The Fearamid is not a place for a Human like Dipper. Not only is it situated in the abandoned corner of a rundown Gravity Falls street, but the few stained-glass windows of the Fearamid are covered by blackout curtains, so the mysteries behind the walls will forever remain hidden. The structure is composed of black bricks, lights flashing neon pinks and blues and yellows to reflect off the mortar between the bricks.

It is a beautiful building, if not for the imposing nature of it being a Bloodhouse run by Bill Cipher.

Dipper’s eyes hurt as soon as he enters, and he squints to find a path to follow that doesn’t involve direct contact with any Vampires.

“Excuse me,” he mumbles, pulling the straps of his backpack and trying to make himself appear smaller, which, unfortunately, isn’t too difficult. He likes to think he’s filled out since the awkward summers of his teenage visits to Gravity Falls, but he’s as lanky as ever.

_Their hands meet in fire, and Dipper wakes up in the shack, covered in bruises and bitemarks and scars he doesn’t remember receiving, cared for after an accident in the woods._

His shoulder bumps a smaller Vampire’s chest—he wonders how many Vampires have mind powers as Bill Cipher does—and he scrambles out of the way. “Sorry! Sorry!”

He doesn’t linger to see if anyone has noticed that he’s Human.

He’s wearing a long-sleeved shirt buttoned to the collar to cover his neck. It’s a bit warm for the weather, but he doesn’t want to show too much skin when he walks into a Vampire Bloodhouse, particularly since he has the means to keep his blood from spilling.

“You have to try this one!” a voice filters through the air. “His blood tastes like melted chocolate and peppermint. A bit spicy, like cinnamon. From the fight he put up on the first bite!” The Vampires surrounding him begin to laugh. Dipper fights his nausea at the descriptions he’s hearing.

“Here, try this Human.” A woman stumbles in the middle of the small crowd. “Her scent is so fragrant; she’s simply divine on the palate. Like a soft dessert, melting on the tongue.”

“Yes!” A moan.

Begging. “Take more!”

He brushes past a Human with a Vampire suckling his neck and another lapping at his thighs. Dipper tries not to look too closely, his mind spinning at the sight.

_“Oooh, he’s such a cute little bloodbag isn’t he?”_

_“Please,” Dipper begs, wrapping an arm around the Vampire’s shoulders, pressing his body to the Vampire’s cold chest. He doesn’t know exactly which Vampire he wants to take him, but it doesn’t matter, as long as there’s venom in his veins and a mouth at his neck. “Take more, you didn’t take enough.”_

_“Aww, the Pines nephew loves this!”_

_“Where did we get him?”_

_“Let’s give him what he wants!”_

_The taunts barely graze him, not when the pure bliss of venom is sinking into his veins, filling his body with euphoria he’s lucky to now know. It’s a weakness, but he also knows he was made to_ do _this, to_ be _this. It was no mistake that he walked into the Fearamid, pulling the collar of his shirt down for Vampires to_ take _._

_It's an addiction, and he’s weak._

_The Vampires pause in their actions to adjust the way he’s positioned between them, and, in that moment, Dipper feels his tongue captured against the soft, cold lips of a Vampire._

_“Come with me, little Pines.”_

_His mind short-circuits as he loses himself in the kiss, a heat burning, surging through his body as the Vampire pulls him away from the crowd and brings him to a back room—_

“Disgusting,” he scolds. His mind often runs if he doesn’t try to tame himself. He loves the supernatural enough to not fully hate Vampires as he should, and it’s something Ford has always found disappointing about him. Fantasizing in the middle of a Bloodhouse is a new low he can never admit. “Stop it, Dipper!”

“Ohhh!” A woman’s dress is torn open, a Vampire licking at her breasts.

He averts his gaze, his cheeks horribly pink. He wonders if his scent is stronger because of his blush.

Is that an appropriate question to ask a Vampire? He sticks out his tongue in thought. Maybe he can sneak it into conversation, just so his documentation on Vampires will be complete. Might as well get more out of his Bloodhouse experience.

“Mmmm!”

He tries to tune out the sounds, the pleasured noises of the Humans who volunteer themselves for Bloodhouses so willingly. He doesn’t want to judge—some people truly enjoy the experience, some people have no choice but to volunteer their bodies for money, some people want to try it just once—but it makes him shiver to think of losing such a vital part of himself.

He wouldn’t ever do that; he values his mind too much.

Ford is a well-renowned researcher in the supernatural because of his intelligence, his unwillingness to be beaten by Vampires like this coven’s leader. He’s never been manipulated, never lost himself to the power that Vampires offer. Dipper is going to be the same.

(If he doesn’t have his mind, then who is he?)

He can feel too many Vampire eyes on him as he walks, judging his every movement. He doesn’t like the attention, never has, and the pressure makes him stumble, landing in the powerful grip of a man much taller and broader than Dipper could ever hope to be.

“How much?”

“Oh!” Dipper clears his throat, tries (and fails) not to squeak. He clutches the straps of his backpack tightly, tries to pull himself from the Vampire’s hold. “I’m not selling.” Then, since he doesn’t know if he was specific enough, he adds, “My blood.”

The Vampire leers at him, and his hands drag down Dipper’s body, sharp fingers prodding the dips and curves he tries to hide with baggy clothes. It makes him feel scandalized. It makes him feel _amazing_. It’s stupid, because he isn’t attracted to this Vampire and he doesn’t want any of this, but his body. . .

“Get yourself together, Dipper!” he mumbles to himself. The Vampire laughs. Right. Excellent hearing.

The cold touch is startlingly _comfortable_ , and it scares him how easily his body seems to melt into this hold, trusting the arms of a stranger who wants nothing more than to hurt him. No no _no_.

“Could’ve fooled me, P—”

“I’m not selling,” he interrupts, voice strengthening. He tugs himself from the Vampire’s arms, glaring at the Vampire’s nose. “Don’t touch me!” He’s not stupid enough to make eye contact with a Vampire. Mabel will never let him live it down if he has a bite mark from this experience when he finds her.

“You’ve never even given someone a hickey!” And she would laugh and laugh. “How _embarrassing!_ ”

Mabel. . .

“Why are you here, then?”

Scowling, Dipper crosses his arms and toughens his glare. He doesn’t like being patronized, _especially_ not by some stupid Vampire. “I’m looking for Bill Cipher,” he announces, staring them all down. That’ll show these _Vampires_ not to underestimate him! And he’s the great nephew of Ford Pines! They should at least be a _little_ worried!

He has Ford’s stake gun in his backpack, just in case.

“Bill Cipher?” A Vampire leaves the crowd she’s part of so she can eye Dipper in morbid curiosity.

“Bill!”

Saying the name quiets the Bloodhouse, and the sounds of pleasure get softer, muted. It feels like Bill’s name is being whispered in Dipper’s ear, echoing through the Fearamid like a heartbeat. _Bill, Bill, Bill._

“Looking for Bill?” Another Vampire pops around the corner of the bar, where glasses of blood are being filled with the slit wrists of dazed, happy Humans. Dipper shudders to think about what got them to this point, and he rubs his wrist in sympathy.

“Of course _you_ would be.”

“Back for more!”

“The little Human wants to be bitten by _Bill_.”

“I’m not getting _bitten_ ,” he snaps, irritated. Just because he’s a small Human in the most well-known Bloodhouse of Gravity Falls doesn’t mean he’s gullible. He’s here for a deal, and he has the perfect bargaining tool to get what he wants. “I’ll find him myself.”

Before he can even try to take a step, a cold hand clutches his wrist.

“No need. Let me.” His smile is sharp, all his teeth sharp and domineering.

“I can find him on my own, thanks.”

The Vampire does not relinquish his hold. “But I’d love to take _you_ to him.”

His grip is tight, a warning that the slightest wrong move could shatter the delicate bones of his tiny wrist. Dipper struggles to keep up with the fast pace of this Vampire, his legs much shorter and his stride much slower.

The back rooms of the Fearamid do nothing to hide the moans of pleasure behind black doors. Dipper tries to ignore them, tries to calm his steadily rising heart rate. The path they take has glowing yellow eyes to illuminate their way, and it does nothing to quell the worry building inside him.

He’s really doing this. He’s going to meet Bill Cipher and use him to save Mabel.

(He’s really about to do something so stupid.)

They head to a back room, a black door with fiery blue symbols etched onto it. Dipper doesn’t have time to decode the writing before the door is thrown open, and he is dragged inside.

“Guess who came for a visit, Boss?”

Before Dipper can say anything, his voice catches in his throat.

“Well, well, well.” The voice echoes in the grand room, loud and deep, flat like he has no emotion. But there are a lot of emotions in his voice, Dipper just can’t place them. “Well, well, well, well, well. . .”

The Vampire in front of him has dark skin and a piercing golden eye lined with thick lashes, tracing Dipper’s every movement. He’s wearing a full suit with a top hat and bowtie, and he sits on what looks like a black throne, lit by a large red stained-glass window shaped like an eye. Lesser Vampires stand on either side of him.

The woman on his left is all curves, dressed so scandalously that Dipper finds he needs to avert his eyes, a heated blush adorning his cheeks. The man on his right is large, broad-shouldered and with a small waist, all sharp angles. Both Vampires blend in with the background.

Dipper swallows. Without a doubt, the attractive Vampire perched on the throne is Bill Cipher.

His very presence is intense, a pressure in the atmosphere that makes Dipper’s knees weak. The straps of his backpack feel loose all of a sudden, and he slides his bag off and to the floor, knees buckling as he tries to remain standing.

“Pine Tree!” Bill stands from his seat, fangs gleaming as he grins. There’s an excitement in his voice, an eagerness in his eye.

“H-hello.” He curses himself for stuttering. Any sign of weakness could be used against him, and he doesn’t want the head of this Vampire coven to find something to use to his advantage.

“Don’t you know it’s a _terrible_ idea to walk into a Vampire Bloodhouse all _alone_?”

In an instant, he is standing next to Dipper, mouth to his ear. Dipper can’t breathe, frozen by having a Vampire so close to him. And every aspect of Bill is purposely meant to entice Humans, entice Dipper.

His smell, even, is horribly familiar, and Dipper feels his body relaxing despite the fast pace of his heart, the way his mind is rushing rushing rushing to come up with a thought beyond admiration of this Vampire, of Bill. Being so close to him is like a punch to the gut, and it feels _wonderful_.

“Unless,” Bill’s voice caresses Dipper’s ear, “you’re offering yourself to me!”

Dipper’s heart pounds heavy in his chest, loud enough he’s sure Bill can hear it. _Can_ Vampires hear it? They have heightened senses of hearing and smell, and since there’s blood involved. . .

 _Don’t ask him that_ , he mentally scolds.

“Silly little fleshbags, making the _same_ mistakes again and again!” Dipper is startled from his stupor, can’t even process what Bill has said, as Bill claps his hands together. The clap rings in his ears, and it must have been a signal, as the other Vampires file out of the room instantly.

It is just the two of them.

Dipper wants to melt into the floor. He doesn’t think his legs can support him any longer.

“No need to fear, Pine Tree!” Bill seems to read his mind, his smile widening in his arrogance. “I didn’t become leader of this Vampire coven just by _killing_ everyone I didn’t like!”

“No, you’re king because so old you’re impossible to kill,” he snarks, then wants to smack himself. Definitely not what he should be saying in the throne room of a Bloodhouse.

Though he looks taken aback, at first, Bill begins to laugh. Dipper takes a step back, tries to steady his posture so he seems less weak. _You can’t trust Bill Cipher. You can’t trust Bill Cipher._ Ford hates all Vampires, but he warned Dipper against Bill Cipher in particular.

Bill is _ancient_ , one of the oldest Vampires known to time. His Fearamid is filled with people he’s personally Turned, and he’s started and ended so many Vampire wars that he’s become a household name. He’s the reason Bloodhouses exist in the first place, a peace offering from Humans to Vampires, he claims, except that he imagines the world as a never-ending party with an immortal host and is doing his best to change everything to fit his wants.

He’s arrogant and impulsive and _attractive_ and, and—

And against his better judgement, Dipper is here, announcing, “I’m here to make a deal with you.”

_Let’s make a deal!_

Bill runs a gloved hand through Dipper’s hair, brushing his bangs from his forehead. “Is that so?”

Unbidden, Dipper’s cheeks warm. He’s still self-conscious about his birthmark, no matter how silly it is to think that a centuries-old Vampire would even care about someone so insignificant as he, decorated with a mark as ugly as his own face.

“What _deal_ brings you to the Fearamid, Pine Tree?” Bill exhales softly, his thumb tracing the shape of the constellation marring Dipper’s skin.

Ignoring the nickname—who knows what makes this Vampire’s head tick, what scary disgusting _anything_ could be running through his scattered brain—Dipper blurts, “Does Human blood smell stronger when we blush?”

A moment passes, and then Bill snickers, his laugh growing louder and louder as the question seems to repeat in his head. This only serves to make Dipper blush harder, and he curses himself for his insatiable curiosity. Couldn’t he have at least asked his question about heartbeats?

“Never mind, never mind!” he stammers, resisting his urge to cover his face with his hands.

“Oh, this is _gold_ , Pine Tree.” Bill’s grin is otherworldly, and Dipper can’t look away. “You really don’t know anymore?”

“Anym—”

“Trying to find out?”

“No, I—”

“Tell you what.” Bill slinks around Dipper’s body, pressing close so he can feel each brush of his skin, the folds of his clothes, the cold of his touch. He breathes out, eyelids fluttering shut before he realizes what he’s doing. “I’ll remind you!”

Dipper’s face is so hot he’s sure he’ll combust and melt on his own. For everything he expected of Bill Cipher, _this_ wasn’t it. He tries to take a step backward, and he trips over his backpack, an undignified shout escaping his lips as he falls into Bill’s waiting arms.

“Pine Tree, you smell,” Bill presses his nose to Dipper’s throat, “ _exquisite_ when you blush!”

Though he regrets the manner in which he got the answer, his fingers itch for a pen. He scrambles out of Bill’s hold and takes several steps backward, pointedly _not_ tripping over his own bag a second time.

“Thanks,” he says, since technically he did ask and technically Bill did answer. “N-not for your comment about my scent,” he corrects when he sees the smirk on Bill’s face, “I mean for answering my question!”

“Of course.” Bill heads back to his throne as though none of the past few moments of torture on Dipper’s racing heart even happened. “You must have so many questions!”

Oh, Dipper has more questions than he can count. But he’s not here to question the ancient coven leader about Vampire culture.

“You can write that down.” Bill waves his hand nonchalantly, but his eye remains tracked on Dipper.

He does want to write it down. What if he forgets? And he has so many _more_ questions that Ford never answered— _you don’t need to know anything about those monsters_ —that media and library books and Ford’s own journal musings can’t hope to tell him. He should write it down. But it would launch him into an interview, distract from his reason for being here.

“Umm, anyway. I came here for a deal.”

Bill’s eye glows a brighter gold. “For your sister.”

“You know what happened?” He feels breathless. Was it really Bill, then? Bill’s coven? Dipper never played with the idea that he was wrong, that he was walking into a trap.

He glances at his backpack, ready to grab the stake gun if necessary.

“I know a thing or two about tracking people.” Bill crosses his legs, folds his hands on his lap. He looks professional, a gentleman, if Dipper didn’t know better. An expert manipulator. _Except you can’t trust Bill Cipher, Dipper._ “I know lots of things! And I’m always willing to share an answer or two with you, Pine Tree!”

 _For a price_ goes unsaid.

Dipper finds himself rambling about his theories. “My sister, she was driving to Gravity Falls when her car crashed into the forest surrounding the town. The car was _totaled_ , and everyone’s saying it was a hit and run, but the insignia of the Cipher wheel was burned onto the underside of the seat.”

When he’d first seen the symbol, he tried to drag Stan and Ford with him to the Fearamid. The symbol was there for a reason, and whether it was because Bill did it or because someone was framing him, getting Mabel back was more important.

Ford had looked genuinely afraid, forbade Dipper from stepping within the same _block_ as the Fearamid.

 _We can’t trust Bill Cipher_ , he insisted. _Especially_ you.

“I figure it was either your coven or someone trying to threaten your coven. But I’ve heard enough about you—yo _ur_ coven, your _coven_ ,” he hates the blush staining his cheeks, how easily he paints his skin red around this Vampire, “that you would hide your tracks a bit better if you were trying to start a fight with my great uncle. But I can’t figure out why.”

His suspicions about a Vampire coven war only mounted when his Grunkles became closed off about Mabel’s disappearance the more Dipper talked about it. Dipper is conducting his own investigation, but Ford doesn’t even entertain Dipper’s thoughts.

It’s been over a month since Mabel went missing and the police have abandoned her case. There’s no evidence that it’s Vampire-related except for the Cipher wheel, but even that is a hard sell despite Dipper’s notes and explanations.

He’s tried following Stan and Ford, but it seems like Ford doesn’t trust him with anything if there’s the slightest chance of Vampires being involved.

And, well, he doesn’t know what he’s done to make himself so unreliable. He’d grown up thinking he would one day follow in Ford’s footsteps, one day work by his side. Instead, he went to Gravity Falls for a summer and he lost all semblance of faith Ford could have in his skills. He knows he spent the summer exploring the forest, he knows he messed up and got hurt. He doesn’t know why his one mistake cost him his uncle.

It doesn’t matter anymore. He’s going to find Mabel, with or without their help.

“You’ve done your research, Pine Tree! I’m impressed.” Though he knows Bill is lying to win him over, he still flushes. Hearing _someone_ say his researching has paid off—even if it’s _Bill Cipher_ of all people, just trying to manipulate him—validates that he’s getting closer to finding his sister. _I’m coming for you, Mabel!_ “Because I’m _so_ impressed, I’ll give you a hint for free!”

Dipper raises an eyebrow. “If you think that’s impressive, you’re easily entertained.”

“So much _spark_!”

“Maybe you need a new hobby.”

“I don’t think you want to see the hobbies of an ages-old Vampire king!” The shadows in the room hit his face just right as he laughs. “For your hint, though. . . It wasn’t _me_.”

Dipper exhales in relief, despite the dubious ‘hint.’ “But you do know who took her? Everyone’s been saying that she’s probably in a hospital somewhere, that no outside parties were involved. But I’ve checked every nearby hospital, got the police to check the hospitals in this county, there are no Jane Does, no Mabels, she’s not there, she’s not _anywhere_. And why would she be missing if it was a hit and run? Someone had to have taken her, but she could be hurt!”

“If I had to guess, another coven is trying to start a war! I’m pretty big in the Vampire world, Pine Tree.”

“Why her, though?” Dipper swallows, acknowledging a worry he’s had for a while. “Were you. . . was _she_ involved with you? In some way?”

For some reason, this question makes Bill break out in echoing, boisterous laugher. “No!”

He wants to hide in embarrassment. He didn’t realize it was such a stupid question.

Bill leans closer toward where Dipper stands. His visible eye drags down Dipper’s body, examining his red cheeks, his oversized shirt on his small frame. His stare lingers in a way that Dipper has never experienced (has only _dreamed_ of feeling), and heat courses through his body, from his face down to the pit of his stomach. He stumbles as he takes a step backward. “Bill—”

“I can surmise why another coven would take her.”

Dipper swallows, forcing his words not to mirror how he’s feeling. “Why?”

Bill snaps his fingers, the sound jolting Dipper back to reality again. “And _that_ brings us to the subject of _payment_!”

“Right.” This is what he’s been practicing in front of his mirror, hiding from his uncles, crafting in secret.

“What are you going to offer me, Pine Tree?” His eye seems to glow.

He’s still a bit dazed from Bill’s stare, and he jolts back to reality when he realizes he needs to answer a question. “Oh!” He grabs his bag from the floor, starts digging through it.

Bill doesn’t even blink.

“My great uncle is an inventor; he made this, uhh, device that lets Vampires walk in the sun.” His fingers brush against the cool metal of the ring, and he nearly drops it when Bill’s hand is suddenly on his wrist, his other hand heavy on Dipper’s hip.

“Nope! Good try, though!”

“What do you mean, _no_?” He tries not to panic, but his heart begins to race. He assumed Bill would want something like this, and Ford hid this invention away for a reason. It’s a dangerous tool to offer a Vampire, but Dipper will do whatever it takes to get Mabel back.

“Want to try again?”

But if Bill doesn’t want the ring, what else could he want? Dipper doesn’t have Ford’s brains to create something else, and he doesn’t have Stan’s strength to fight off Bill if this deal falls through. Bill has more than enough money and power to get anything and everything he could dream of achieving. There’s nothing Dipper can even hope to offer him.

“Do you have your eye on another invention of my uncle’s? He’s Stanford Pines, you must have heard of him.”

He wonders if Bill can feel how sweaty his palms are becoming—which is not a question he will be asking!

“I don’t want anything of _his_.”

What would Mabel do in this situation? She’s so confident, she wouldn’t have fumbled through this.

Resigned, he asks, “What do you want, then?”

“I thought you’d never ask! I need to think about it!” He pauses for just long enough that his stare makes Dipper flustered again, but not long enough for Dipper to calm himself. “Just kidding, I already know! What I want is. . . Well, _you_ , Pine Tree!”

Dipper chokes on his breath, and his coughing makes Bill laugh again. He pulls himself free of Bill’s grip to stutter out a question: “Wh-what?”

“More specifically, I want one _bite_ of you.”

“No!” he declares immediately, because it’s the principle of the thing, that he can’t run the possibility of getting addicted, that he won’t give up this part of himself, that Mabel will be _furious_ when she finds out.

_He is in a room of Vampires, someone reaching from behind him, pulling him close. He feels the chill of the Vampire holding him, the bliss of Vampire venom clouding his mind. His head feels light, like he’s drifting away to somewhere happy and free, a dreamscape of all his pleasures._

_There’s laughing, taunting, and he’s being pulled out of one Vampire’s grip and into another’s. His vest is tugged off his shoulders, his collar torn, and he barely notices because he’s their plaything, nothing but a toy for them to use for their own pleasure._

_“He’s a_ Pines _,” someone jeers._

_“A Pines in our control!”_

_He agreed to this, though. They can have whatever they want from him, since Bill met his part of the deal._

_And the Vampires make him feel wonderful. It’s_ exhilarating _, despite the mocking, the cruel laughter. He sometimes feels like a shell of himself, but lately Bill has been stealing him away, just to_ talk _._

_“I’ll be taking Pine Tree, now!” The voice is loud, controlling the entire room as it echoes._

_“Bill!”_

_Dipper sighs, smiles. “Bill. . .”_

“Wh—” Dipper clutches his head, the stirrings of a migraine burning behind his eyes. Bill’s powers of the mind are. . . intense. “Your imagination is _something_. Stay out of my head.”

It’s tamer than the dreams (nightmares) plaguing Dipper’s mind when he tries to sleep at night. He’s dreamed of far worse—sex in Bloodhouses is more than common, and Dipper is only mildly ashamed of his dreams—but he’s never had thoughts forced into his mind.

He doesn’t want to lose himself, not to _Bill_ , not to _anyone_. The idea scares him more than he’d like to admit, and he tries to shove the very thought as far from his mind as possible.

“You don’t like the idea, Pine Tree?” Bill’s visible eye holds so much mirth, and his voice is sultry, wrapping around Dipper and pulling him close. “Your body in my arms, as I take just a _little_ taste! I’m only asking for _one_ bite! Isn’t _one_ bite worth your sister’s life!”

Yes.

Definitely.

Absolutely.

Mabel is going to be livid.

“Dipper!” she’d exclaim. “Saving me isn’t worth _this!_ ”

_You can’t trust Bill Cipher._

But at least she’ll be around to _be_ mad. One bite can’t get him addicted, no matter what mind games Bill is trying to play.

“One feeding,” Dipper repeats. “No lies. No Compulsion.”

“Where’s the enthusiasm, Pine Tree? You sound like you’re about to sign your life away! My bites are an _experience_!”

Dipper frowns. “No lying. No Compelling.”

“I’m a Vampire of my word!” Bill says, with a grin stretched far too wide and with too many sharp teeth. Dipper swallows; the thought of those fangs near his skin is too daunting. Bill is so tall, so domineering. Dipper feels so small near him, doesn’t want to be in his hold. “Trust me. I won’t Compel unless you ask!”

He’s still hesitant. The promise of a Vampire’s help in tracking Mabel is _huge_. Vampires can track scents, can find more details at a crime scene than Dipper could ever hope to uncover. Bill already seems to know about what happened, might know what coven is trying to start a Vampire war. Whoever took Mabel left Bill’s insignia for a reason.

“But”—Dipper doesn’t know if he wants the answer to this, but Bill has a strange personality and Dipper can’t hope to understand without asking—“why do you want my blood?”

It doesn’t make sense to give up the possibility of walking in the daylight in exchange for one taste of Dipper.

From how the Vampires had described the Humans they were drinking, Dipper is sure he won’t taste great. He’s relatively unhealthy, all things considered—he’s barely eaten the past month because of how much he’s been searching for Mabel, and he hasn’t gotten much sleep lately either—if Bill nicknamed him based on scent, the taste of pine tree would not be worth having to hide from the sun.

What benefit would Dipper’s blood bring, compared to any of the better Humans offering their blood in the Fearamid?

His head spins as he tries to theorize Bill’s motivations.

“My reasons are my own.” His words are vague enough that Dipper’s mind runs wild again.

“No, but you’re the head Vampire, you’re supposed to be eating Humans for breakfast, torturing other Vampires for lunch, conquering the world at dinnertime.” Oh, Dipper needs to stop giving Bill ideas. He hastily continues, “My little request shouldn’t mean anything to you in the grand scheme of things. I’m trying to find someone you’ve never met. And you don’t even want a daylight ring for it?”

“Astute observations, Pine Tree!”

“A daylight ring would bring you closer to your world domination plan, at least.”

“How’s this as explanation enough,” Bill grins, “you’re simply an urge of mine I can’t quite cure!”

_They start spending a lot of time in the throne room, agreement paused in favor of Bill’s curiosity, and Dipper builds the confidence to ask his questions, to learn about Vampires, about Bill._

_They learn about each other._

“You mean, all Humans, right?” Dipper tries to laugh, to lighten the situation. Silly of him, to think Bill Cipher would find Dipper in particular ‘an urge.’ His muscles feel tense. He’s running out of ideas to stall, and he has nothing else to offer. The longer they wait, the more ideas Bill feeds into his head. “You can’t change your mind when I taste bad.”

Bill’s smile is monstrous, wide and cruel and all too delighted to have Dipper in his hands. “Oh, Pine Tree. You don’t taste _bad!”_

“How would you know what I taste like? Don’t answer that!” He needs to work on his propensity to either overthink his responses or just blurt the first sarcastic comment that comes to mind. And then, another question he wants to ask, though the answer will probably make his dialogue worse. “Can you read Human thoughts? I know you have mind abilities.”

Bill snickers. “I’ll answer all your questions, and then some more, for that bite.”

It’s. . . fair. Dipper does have a lot of questions.

“My blood in exchange for your help in getting my sister back,” Dipper says, finally, false confidence in his voice.

_You can’t trust Bill Cipher._

His palm is outstretched, innocent. “Do we have a deal?”

It’s just _one_ bite.

For Mabel.

“No mind stuff,” Dipper repeats, the sense of dread washing over him the longer he ruminates. He can already tell he’ll regret this deal, somehow.

But if he waits too long, he’ll talk himself out of it. He’ll think too much, overthink, turn too many possibilities in his head. Then he’ll be no closer to finding Mabel, and he’ll have annoyed Bill Cipher enough that he’ll lose this opportunity altogether.

He has to get Mabel back.

He looks at Bill’s hand, then back at his golden eye, shimmering in a way that makes him shiver.

“Deal.”

When their palms touch, Dipper’s head pounds in blinding pain, and he yanks his hand away, fingers burning as though he touched blue fire.

Bill laughs as though seeing Dipper in pain brings him joy—and maybe it does, maybe pain is hilarious to him, maybe Dipper is just another pathetic Human he’s manipulated to submission—and though Dipper doesn’t doubt Bill’s intentions entirely, he needs to trust this. They have work to do.

He fights his nausea, the churning in his stomach telling him he should have fought harder to get Bill to take the ring. Clearing his throat and standing as tall as he can, pulling himself away from where Bill is poising himself to bite, Dipper continues their previous conversation. “So why did they take Mabel?”

“Blood first, Pine Tree!”

“How about, half of the answers now, half later, blood in the middle.” Dipper smirks, but his heart is hammering so loudly he can’t even hear himself talking.

“Driving a hard bargain, but you have no proverbial chips on the table!”

“Why Mabel?”

“You Humans are the same every century!” Though he knows he is being difficult, Bill is smiling anyway. “So greedy for answers but you won’t give me my _payment!_ ”

Dipper recognizes his selfishness. After so many years of Gravity Falls supernatural summers, Mabel has pointed out how easily he will leave others behind if it means saving her. But he doesn’t care about others, about himself, if it means she’ll be okay.

But how would Bill know that?

Unless he really can read minds. Dipper should have asked that question first. He would have preferred that answer over the question about his blushing.

“Humans are tougher than you think,” he insists, because _Mabel_ isn’t selfish like Bill is claiming. “And what about _you_? You’re the one offering the deals.” From what Dipper has read, Vampires are all sin, not a single _drop_ of humanity left behind. Bill has had centuries to shed any remaining traces of emotion and humanity. “If you know where Mabel is, or why they took her, why the theatrics?”

“I never claimed to be anything _but_ selfish.” Bill’s voice is sugar and honey and warmth capturing Dipper in more ways than one.

“Then in comparison, how am I the greedy one?”

“That’s what I like about you, Pine Tree! Your weakness is that you’re selfishly selfless. A fighter for others but not for yourself!”

“Don’t talk like you know me.” _I just want to find Mabel._

“But I do know you! Just like I know _I_ always get what I want!” Bill unbuttons the first few buttons of Dipper’s shirt. He shivers at the feel of cool fingers on his bare skin.

“You can’t pretend to know me because you think you understand all Humans.”

Bill doesn’t respond to that, instead brushing his fingers against Dipper’s collarbone. “Have you given your blood before?”

“N-no,” he says, barely a whisper.

He feels like it’s a lie, the way his voice catches and his heart races. But it isn’t. He’s spent every summer in Gravity Falls, studying the flora and fauna of the woods surrounding his Grunkles’ home. He’s wondered about Vampires, learned about them from reading, from the media. It hasn’t been enough.

Ford has told him little about his own research since that summer, but he’s always forbidden Dipper from leaving the Mystery Shack, and he’s never allowed him near the Bloodhouses of Gravity Falls. Especially not the Fearamid.

“Liar.” Bill starts slow, nibbles at his ear. “I’ve never tasted a _poison_ as sweet as _you_.”

Why does he keep talking like this?

Bill laughs, works his mind magic once more, and—

_The inside of his mouth tastes like blood, metallic and unpleasant. His hands shake as he tries to pull himself up, tries to stand. He hears a high-pitched laugh, and then he’s falling into someone’s grasp. It’s unfamiliar and cold, and he tries to pull himself away, but their grip is heavy as their arms wrap around him, and he doesn’t feel strong enough._

_He knows he’s strong enough, though._

_Just not. . . just not now._

_Laughing. People are laughing at him. Cruel. They want to hurt him. They have hurt him. He wants to snark at them, but then there’s the cold brush of someone’s fingers on his neck, pushing his hair away, the pleasant prick of fangs, and he melts into the touch._

_He moans, and it’s so public, so unrestrained of a sound, he doesn’t like that everyone’s watching, but he can’t help it, he feels so wonderful_ , _everyone should hear his pleasure._

_Why would he ever want to leave this?_

_“Pine Tree. . .”_

He can feel goosebumps on his arms, even under the long sleeves of his shirt, and he squirms in Bill’s hold. The thoughts Bill shoves into his head are so strange. He feels amazing thinking of them, but he also hates the thought of being as weak as these imaginings paint him. “I’ve never. . . I mean, I’ve thought about it, but. . .”

“Hmm,” he hums, breath cool on Dipper’s neck as he exhales. “You’ve imagined my lips on your neck.”

“I—”

“You’ve imagined the _devil_ inside of you.”

“I said to stay out of my mind, Bi—”

Bill captures Dipper’s lips with his own, and Dipper surrenders fully to the feeling. What is he doing? Why is he—

But Bill is every bit as intoxicating as he imagined kissing a Vampire would be, the taste, the heat, the haze on his mind. Bill’s tongue is wicked, and Dipper moans eagerly in response, unwittingly trying to follow his lead, fingers grasping at Bill’s suit.

He pulls away, his breath a whisper on Dipper’s cheek. “You were a little bloodwhore yourself.”

_Hands drag down his sides, and he’s perched on someone’s lap. Someone is biting his neck, his wrists, his thighs. It’s heavenly, being able to give so much of himself to this coven. They tear his clothes like wrapping paper on a present, and he feels so special to be treated this way._

_He tries to thank them, but his words die on his lips when he feels the bite on his thigh get a bit rough, and the hands on his skin are hard, bruising._

_“Please,” he begs, but he doesn’t ask for them to stop._

_They do stop, though, when Bill changes the terms of his deal, when Dipper starts becoming too weak to keep up with their late-night conversations. And Bill is so selfish, he feeds the addiction he helped create, and Dipper just takes and takes and takes._

The thoughts are starting to hurt. He doesn’t think he has enough experience to think of situations like these, and yet. . .

“I—”

“They were supposed to steal you, not your sister.” Before he can fully process the statement, Dipper can feel Bill’s grin against his neck. “You’re a hard game to catch, though. Your poor uncle just wanted you to stay inside, and though _you_ did, he didn’t keep your sister on as tight of a leash.”

It’s like an icy bath, and he’s shuddering awake.

“Your uncle told me I could take something from him. I couldn’t take you, per our deal, but your sister brought you back anyway.”

Fuck. Mabel is hurt because of Dipper. Mabel is _missing_ because of him.

“He stole you from me!”

_You can’t trust Bill Cipher, Mason._

No no no no no no—

_“Take away his memories of this,” Ford begs, cradling his nephew to his chest. Though his tone is pleading, his grip tightens like he’s more angry than desperate. Dipper feels dizzy, but he tries to open his eyes, focus on his surroundings. “I didn’t want him dragged into your nonsense, Bill.”_

_Bill examines his gloved hand as though it’s the most interesting thing in the world. “Should’ve thought about that before you introduced him to me.”_

_“I didn—”_

_“So much potential knowledge at his fingertips, and all for a mystery even his favorite uncle couldn’t solve! He’d do anything for his family. Like make a deal with_ me _!”_

 _Dipper tries to pull at Ford’s collar, but he doesn’t have the energy to apologize nor is he really sorry. Finding Stan was more important. And Bill helped, he brought Stan back as per the terms of their deal. Dipper was_ useful. _He just. . . lost a lot in the process._

_He doesn’t mind, though. The ends justified the means. And Bill had been—_

_“And he fell in love with a_ Vampire _in the process of becoming one of the Fearamid’s most popular bloodwhores! Doesn’t that make your blood_ boil _?”_

_Is this whole thing a game to him? Is Dipper the naïve little pawn who surrendered himself to the head of an ancient Vampire coven and got emotional about it?_

_“Make him forget. This. You.”_

_“No.”_

_No, that’s not true. Dipper is sure Bill feels more than he’s revealing. He answered all of Dipper’s questions, gave him journals to fill as they talked and talked. He rescinded the terms of their deal, when he saw what feeding the coven was doing. He made them stop when he realized he had a trace of humanity left and that he felt. . . Dipper_ knows _—_

_“I can do it myself. The Blind Eye exists for a reason.”_

_Dipper stills in Ford’s hold, and he tries to see if Bill has the same reaction. The Blind Eye’s memory-erasing would make Dipper lose more of himself than just Bill. He’d lose himself._

_“Is that really what you want.” He’s unreadable. “Memories are how you fleshbags keep yourselves from making the same mistakes!”_

He’s going to throw up. He’s so stupid, he should have listened to Ford. He should have listened to _everyone_. Dipper turns to look at Bill, trying to free himself from the grip tightening on his arms. “Y-you said—”

“You’ve been a bad little love, Pine Tree.” _You can’t trust Bill Cipher._ “And you’re mine.”

“Ohhh!”

Dipper feels Bill’s teeth break his skin, the sharp pain hitting him before his mind processes that he’s being bitten, and he’s warm, melting into the cold touch of this monster.

 _Yes yes yes_. . . He’s _needed_ this. He’s _missed_ this.

Bill sinks his fangs into Dipper’s neck, and the bliss that clouds Dipper’s mind is not new. He is floating, and his body reacts instinctively, leaning into Bill’s touch like he’s done this before, like he’s meant to do this. His body, his _mind_ , has missed this.

He could die like this, and it would be _euphoric_.

 _Drink, drink, drink_.

Dipper doesn’t think he exists, there's only Bill Cipher and how he can take everything that Dipper is and will be. Heat is pooling between his legs, and Dipper doesn’t feel attached to his thoughts or his body anymore. His blood is meant for Bill, he was created to please Bill, and he wants to offer every bit of himself, in any way he can.

Again.

 _“I don’t want to lose my little sapling for nothing, Sixer! He’s the one who came here and tempted_ me _. Naughty little Pine Tree, lures in his eyes, lures with his mind!”_

 _Despite the haze clouding his mind, Dipper blushes. “Bill. . .”_ You can’t say that to my uncle _, he tries to say._

_“Make him forget.” Ford’s grip on Dipper tightens._

_“What can I take in return, though? It needs to be worth losing—”_

_“He is not yours.”_

_“Isn’t he?” Bill sounds bitter. “Then I want to take something from_ you _at a later time.”_

_“Take what?” Ford asks, and he sounds exhausted, resigned to this broken path to fixing Dipper’s mistakes._

I’m sorry _, he can’t say._

 _“Ford,” he tries, but he’s so tired. He’s lost so much blood, and words aren’t forming on his lips like he needs them to do._ I’m fine here.

 _“That’s for me to know,” Bill singsongs. “It’ll have to be an equal exchange. I quite like the_ taste _of my little Pine Tree.” Bill’s laugh is cruel, menacing. Horrible. Beautiful. “And I can’t take away his_ feelings _, Sixer. Just the memories that caused them!”_

_“You can’t have him, Bill.”_

_“He’s addicted, Sixer. If he gets bitten again, he’ll come back.”_

_“Then I’ll just have to keep him from you.”_

Dipper gasps (and _oh_ , the sound of Bill’s moan in response makes Dipper possibly more _desperate_ ) and he all but collapses into Bill’s arms, offering everything he can, molding to Bill’s grip like he was made to be there. _Take everything I have to offer. Again._

“Please!”

“Trust me,” Bill whispers, pressing a cold kiss to Dipper’s temple, “trust me. I’m not sharing you this time.”

Dipper sinks further into the hazy bliss he’d once known, the addiction he can never cure. His fingers find purchase in Bill’s shirt, and he exhales, his memories fluttering back little by little. “Bill?”

“Welcome back, Pine Tree.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was fun to write but it kept getting longer and longer (rip the plan for 4k) so I cut myself off. It's very heavily based on the song "Trust Me" from "The Devil's Carnival", which I highly recommend for vibes.
> 
> Please let me know your thoughts! Especially if this is confusing in any way. Was it too predictable? Was it not foreshadowed enough? Are you quite finished reading the vampire monstrosities I keep writing?
> 
> catch me on [tumblr](http://ssuppositiouss.tumblr.com) to yell about billdip or vampires ohoho


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